


Heir, Maleficar and Barmaid

by haloneshiral



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloneshiral/pseuds/haloneshiral
Summary: A series of short fics about Inquisition from the point of view of an ordinary person pledged to its cause. That's not to say Adelaide Sprye has never had her own secrets.





	1. Laidy

The patriarch of the Vitalis family demanded a volunteer—  _could_ you demand such a thing?

An elf shuffled forward and offered her arm reluctantly. The guard’s pauldrons clinked when he yanked her forward. Slaves were slaves. A normal fixture in their lives. But she wondered what it would be like. 

To be in their shoes. To cater to the whims of powerful, wealthy men like her father. To be procured like a set of ingredients.

She was made to watch the moment steel cut flesh, when blood was drawn. He seemed pleased with himself, for what he was about to do with it. Even more amused to see his daughter squirm at the sight as he wiped off the blood.

“One day,” He said.  “You will have to do the same.” The blood-soaked towel he used was handed to the same slave. 

It felt wrong.

 

* * *

 

In the heart of the Hinterlands, she was Adelaide Sprye. 

Not Tevinter nobility. Just Laidy. 

The sweetest barmaid you could find. If you were nice to her, she’d pour you half a cup more.

But anonymity came with a price.

_Keep your head low. Be no one. Agree with everything._

How was it really any different from Tevinter?

She saw then, that once unbound by shackles, the definition of freedom blurred. 

 

* * *

 

It felt wrong. _Worse._

To hold the very power every single one of them feared— the ability to destroy an entire Chantry, where they kept their Maker and Andraste. Would they turn her over when they knew what she really was? 

Of course, they would. 

Apostate. Maleficar.  _Blood Mage_. 

The words were hissed, spat when they were uttered. Men who are a danger to themselves and to those around them for drawing power from the unholy and the unnatural. She likened their plight to cornered—  _frightened_ — wild animals once. Then they told her they had to be put down, like the beasts they were. She nodded, for fear of giving herself away.

Hundreds dead and thousands more would die. She wondered if they were right to say,

_Leash them tighter._

 

* * *

 

She lit a candle with a flick of a wrist. Force of habit, but only when no one was watching. 

It was not blood magic. It was not  _as_  wrong.

In the same candlelight, she watched templars and mages alike descend upon the Crossroads. It was a blur and the Inquisition was to thank for it.

And she did what she did best— stay out of sight. Still, she was not spared from the aftermath and the horrors once she emerged. It was not _all_  blood magic. She knew. And yet the screams do not leave her dreams. 

 

* * *

 

If she had not grown so reliant upon magic, perhaps she wouldn’t be shaking while the old widow bandaged her bloodied hand.

A highwayman, she recounts, attempted to take her coin purse by the river. Somehow she pushed the dagger away by the blade and fled. 

 _“Fool of a girl,”_  She was chastised.  _“Should have let him take it.”_

She stared at where she sank the edge of the blade on her palm. 

It was a just a little fire for some rope. 

A little flame a templar watched her light from her fingertips. When their eyes met, the sound of her own breathing and heartbeat deafened her.

 _Run._ She willed herself to. 

But he was a templar- quicker, stronger. He would have cut her down, but she sliced her hand on the blade.

They told her she was lucky not to be hurt— By the templar? No, the  _highwayman—_  that he did not give chase.

But men often could not when they were dead. And now his cries haunt her dreams too.

Her uninjured hand balled up and clenched til her nails dug into her skin.

She has become what they feared.  _She wept._


	2. Skyhold

Skyhold was much too bright. 

Not in the way the sun spilled over the mountains at dusk.

No, it was that Skyhold was a place of hope—  _of purpose_ — and every step she had taken upon its stones made her heart tremble.

_And how would it not?_

Everyone moved with such unwavering devotion to the cause that she felt like an impostor. As though such was not her place. Not without a fire of her own.

Perhaps she had lived among shadows for too long.

She had lived with the banality of blood magic and slavery. It sickened her, but not enough to fight it. Her birthright would have had her stand on top of it, gorging herself on benefits reaped from what others had sown. 

Even when she had begun anew, to live another life, she  _took_  one instead. The blood on her hands belonged to a man who had every intention of cutting her down. And still it weighed upon her soul. No matter how she twisted it in her favor, the truth was brutally simple— She had valued her life more than his.

She was Adelais Vitalis.

And Adelaide Sprye. 

_Laidy._

In each name she felt a deception— not a lie, but an incomplete truth. Yet she wore them all the same. 

The thought stopped her from venturing any further. It was, in truth, the toll of a long trek up the Frostbacks, but her heart called it guilt. The unworthiness she felt. 

She had accepted an invitation to serve, extended to her by a pair of Inquisition soldiers—  _siblings_ — and thought she had found her calling. She could have it all.  _Hope and purpose._

And yet now with Skyhold in view, she faced doubt.

With a ragged exhale, she licked her lips already cracked from the sharp, icy winds and she cast a glance over her shoulder. The sight that greeted her was an expanse of snow and mountains jutting left and right. She looked to remind herself how far she’d come. She could not take her word back so close to Skyhold’s gates. 

Scouts and merchants were eyeing her briefly as they walked past. If they had thought her lost, they would not know how right they were.

Clutching a small satchel carrying what little she owned, she willed herself forward one step. 

Then another.

_Who was she fooling?_

What could she possibly offer the Inquisition that they could not have? As the barmaid Laidy, nothing. As the Tevinter blood mage Adelais, still nothing. 

What was she doing? She did not mirror the passion their Inquisitor had to make things right. She wanted not to serve, but to absolve herself, to silence, to wash the blood off her hands. 

Her third step would not come. 

Laidy had spun around before she could even cross the fortress’s threshold and promptly crashed into someone clad in armor.

Scrambling to form an apology through the pain of the impact, her sentences were half formed in a panic, but the elven soldier shook her head.

“Are _you_  alright?” she asked quietly, with a light Dalish lilt.

The elf’s eyes scanned over her checking for signs of hurt.

“Perfectly fine, miss.” Laidy forced herself to smile.

The soldier relented, not wanting to press the matter, then eyed the way Laidy held her belongings. She offered a smile, much gentler than her own, in return. It was difficult not to realize that the redhead had every intention of leaving before she made it in.

“It’s a little daunting, isn’t it?“ The soldier nodded her head towards the fortress. 

Laidy directed her attention to the towering brick and stones before them. A breathy chuckle was all she could muster in agreement. 

”No, I understand, believe me. It took me some time to call it home, but…” The soldier relaxed, smiling fondly. “Now it is. I hope you’ll find a home here too.“

With a slight nod, she took her leave.

It could easily have been small talk, but there was something so genuine about the way it had been said. For several moments, Laidy found herself rooted into place, watching the white cape billow slightly in the breeze until the soldier was out of view. 

Would  _she_  find a home here?

To be consoled by a Dalish elf who found meaning within those walls, to be spoken to right when she was? it was nothing short of extraordinary.  For someone exuding such a gentle warmth without burning so bright, she still served the Inquisition. Enough to call it a place of her own.

 _Perhaps a sign from the Maker._ It was enough to spur her on. Laidy strode past the gates— this time her steps without stutter.


	3. Hearth

“Your hands were bloodied by sword and magic, so you thought to carry the sin of every mage.”

Laidy stared at him, eyes wide. The comment caught her off-guard. It was not the sort of response she expected when asking  _“How are you doing today?”_

The barkeep warned her that the attic’s occupant might be a little eccentric. Yes, “eccentric”she had been prepared for. But  _this_? She meant to acquaint herself with the people of Herald’s Rest with a little small talk over the past few weeks. Instead the man— Cole was it?— saw her for who she was. Any trace of a smile on her lips evaporated instantly. Her deathgrip on the banister was all that kept her knees from buckling in shock.

The thought of being exposed, of being vulnerable– the thought of her sins laid bare–  _terrified_  her. Though she breathed not a word of it to anyone, somehow, he knew. It would have been easy to laugh it off, or feign ignorance, but the suddenness of it all robbed her of her wits and speech.

Cole averted his gaze, searching the floor for find the right words. His expression betrayed nothing, though she anticipated an accusation of some sorts. He must have sensed her immense discomfort. For a moment, he seemed to reach out to her, then thought better of it.

“But… you are not every mage. You are _Laidy_.”

The words lifted the weight upon her shoulders. And without realizing it, she had been holding her breath. Releasing her hold from the banister, she wrung her wrists, wondering what to say in response to something so cathartic. Before she got the chance, however, he began again.

“You are bright. You think you are not. No, not like _her_. Her fire  _burns_ , a torch, a beacon for all— one to lead. But you are a hearth.”

Did he even realize what he said to her? The sheer gravity of his response were words she needed, but she was not a fool to readily believe them. Even if she wanted to. His expression remained the same, eye staring straight, boring a hole into her soul. It was not difficult to imagine he could see everything about her.

“I-… thank you kindly, Cole. I think.” She turned her attention to the bustle in the floors below, noting that the sweet notes from the bard’s playing surprising carried all the way up. The Herald’s Rest was different from the tavern she worked at. It was smaller, and the unforgiving winters made the patrons prickly. Most kept to themselves, save for a few regulars. But the name suited this tavern.  _The Herald’s Rest_. Even when the Chargers grew rowdy enough to drown out Maryden’s voice, there was a sense of camaraderie and comfort in being there. And now Cole was saying she had a place here. She did not mind the idea, if she dared.

Slowly, she turned to him, looking over her shoulder, this time with a grin.

“I’ll bring you a hot meal.” Laidy said before disappearing down the steps.

“We’ll see,” was all she heard behind her.

And she would soon find herself preparing a meal no one seemed to recall was asked for.


	4. Waiting Tables

“So, my favorite redhead’s finally come around,” Iron Bull grinned. He held his cup out as the barmaid poured him yet a fill.

“I’ve come around,” Laidy laughed as she filled his cup to the brim. “To pour you drinks.”

She then poured some for each of Bull’s Chargers. Each one extending their cup in her direction. Krem was the last of them, sitting on the farthest end of the table. When he stood to pass her his cup, he threw a look at Iron Bull.

“Bah, leave her alone, chief,” he raised his glass to the barmaid, who raised her flagon in response. “She’s laughing because she sees  _right_ through you.”

“He is right, Bull,” Laidy clucked her tongue in mock disappointment. “Barmaids talk, and I’m not the only redhead at the Rest you’ve said that to.”

A collective “ooh” ripped through their table. All eyes were on their leader.

It’s true. One of the newer ones– a redhead, of course– gushed and said as much. A little too much. That, at least, solved the mystery of all the flour spilled in the pantry and the odd prints on the table. Jim had been in charge of cleaning that mess. Poor Jim.

Krem made a sweeping shrug at Iron Bull before motioning towards Laidy. “What’d I tell you? Sees right through you.”

“It’s  _banter_. Laidy knows it’s harmless fun,” Iron Bull offered her a wink and downed his drink in an instant. Laidy refilled his cup in a practiced fashion, shaking her head fondly.

“Besides, if I  _were_  more serious, I’d get some serious physical threats from every table here. From that one especially,” He pointed to one where a large, rotund cat perched. At the sudden attention, the cat gave a low, hearty meow before turning away from the prying eyes. Milord was Laidy’s cat, and he, as regal as his namesake, did not take kindly to most people except his chosen few.

Iron Bull rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know about you but being driven from the tavern just isn’t appealing to me. I  _like_  it here.”

“And we like you here,” she beamed at him.

“See?  _Banter_. She gets it.”

“Now, now, that goes for  _all_ of you,” Laidy squeezed his shoulder fondly as she walked by him to take her leave.

She could hear Krem make another quip at Bull in the short distance. A light smile tugged on her lips. Nothing quite lifted her spirits like that ragtag band of mercenaries. They were boisterous– frequently roaring with laughter and banging their fists on the table when they’d had more than a few to drink (and oh, how they drank)– but they were a welcome fixture at the Herald’s Rest nonetheless.

Iron Bull was, after all, one of Inquisitor Lavellan’s closest companions. Laidy had witnessed her drinking with them once. The Inquisitor rarely indulged in ale, and would always politely refuse a third drink from her. Despite Inquisitor Lavellan’s solemn nature, she never seemed uneasy with the increasingly intoxicated crew. Not that she minded so much– they made it feel like a home, judging by the way she chuckled and grinned in their company. 

And Laidy understood why. They may seem rough around the edges but they were genuine.

_Genuine._

The word gave Laidy pause. Her thoughts swirled into something accusatory. Her stride faltered briefly before she steeled herself to answer them. 

_Not today._


End file.
